


In Which Magic is Undoubtedly Real and Cannot Solve the World's Problems

by thedarkandstormyknight



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkandstormyknight/pseuds/thedarkandstormyknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since a chance encounter as a child, Enjolras has always believed in magic. Furthermore, he strongly thinks that magic, if applied correctly, could help solve many of the world's ills. However, it is more than a little difficult to find magic in a world that refuses to believe. His research leads him to an old castle, rumored to once have been the home of Arthur Pendragon and Merlin in Albion's Golden Days. But the only person left to give him answers is the surly caretaker Grantaire, who insists that not only is magic not real, but the idea of it's existence is ludicrous at best. What Enjolras doesn't know is that Grantaire is the last keeper of magic outside of Avalon, tasked with guarding the Door until it is time for the Once and Future King to return to earth. And he's not willing to let some naive college kid and friends mess it all up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Prologue**

 

Magic is real. This is what Enjolras had learnt as a child. And despite the fact that he had grown immensely from this moment of clarity, he still held tight to that belief. Magic is real.

 

As a young boy, Enjolras had originally scoffed anything even slightly fantastical. Magic tricks? Boring and predictable. Unicorns? Unrealistic, because virginity is a social concept mutated from its original meaning so there was no way a certain type of horse only approached virgins. And so it went.

 

All this had changed during a camping trip with his parents. It had been one of their last attempts to appear to be bonding with their son, and it was a disaster. Enjolras had run off in tears on only the second day of the trip. For one, none of them were equipped for camping and two, Enjolras did not get along with the people who had birthed him. So he had run through the thick woods without a second thought, stumbling and crying until he had happened on a large lake and found himself quite lost.

 

He had sat on the pebbly shore, sniffling most pathetically, until a slender man with dark brown hair had suddenly stepped out of the weeds. The stranger had stopped and stared at Enjolras, nonplussed to find a little kid in an area that never had visitors, and Enjolras had started crying even harder, remembering all his nanny’s stories about strangers and kidnapping. To his amazement, the stranger had knelt down by Enjolras and produced a clean tissue, seemingly from nowhere.

 

“Hey now, what’s wrong? You lost?” Enjolras had frantically shook his head, even as he snuffled into the tissue provided. If he admitted he was lost, the stranger might just drag him off, never to be seen or heard from again. The stranger had rocked back on his heels and nodded.

 

Then he sat by the shore of the beautiful lake and waited patiently as Enjolras cried. Occasionally he would hand the kid another tissue. All the while, he spoke calmly, telling soothing stories about the lake and a family of swans who apparently lived by the water. Once Enjolras had calmed down significantly, mostly due to the light stories, he took a good look at the mysterious adult.

 

The man had thick curly brown hair, plain clothes, and square hands. His eyes were a warm blue, but whenever he grabbed another tissue, they seemed to flash a pure gold. He was barefoot and his hands traced patterns into the small patches of sand. His nose was bent, as if it had been broken once or twice and his mouth was lopsided. When he caught Enjolras’ inquisitive eyes, he smiled kindly, and stuck out a hand, brushing dirt off it. Enjolras slowly thought that he didn’t look like the scary men in his nanny’s stories. His eyes were too nice.

 

“Hey, you feeling better? You know, I totally approve of having a good cry now and then. It lets out all those pesky feelings. And this is the perfect place. Nice scenery, plus water to drink if you get dehydrated from all those tears. Do you want to talk about it?” Enjolras considered the man’s question. His voice was rich and smooth and reminded the child of some chocolate he had pinched from his parents. Maybe he would tell the stranger.

 

“My mommy and daddy said I’m ungrateful because I don’t think we should have all the things we have. Lot’s of people don’t have houses like ours and I think we should give away some of our stuff and money to help. But my parents said that means I just don’t appreciate what I have and how hard they work. But other people work hard too! Like my nanny. And she doesn’t have as much, and I don’t understand why, because she deserves to live in a big house and have people cooking for her,” Enjolras admitted, his lower lip wobbling as he remembered the argument. “So I ran away. And I’m never going back.” He hadn’t actually gotten that far, but it sounded good to say.

 

“Never going back, eh?” said the man gravelly. “Then what will you do?” At that, Enjolras started crying again, because he didn’t know. He was only eight! These were questions for adults, but by leaving his parents, he had to figure them out. He wanted his nanny. Alarmed, the man made soothing noises, but nothing alleviated Enjolras’ panic.

 

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just, uh, think happy thoughts. That’s all you need. That and a little bit of pixie dust.” The man held out a hand that was suddenly filled with glitter. Enjolras frowned and glared up at the stranger with red-rimmed eyes.

 

“I’m not stupid!” he snapped. “You’re quoting Peter Pan and that’s not even a real story. There are no such things as pixies or - or flying or magic!” He ended with a loud, indignant squeak. The stranger’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

 

“No such thing as magic? Well that’s the saddest thing I’ve heard all day. Why of course there is such thing as magic! You know, this is why the world is as it is. People stop believing in magic too young. You’re what, eight years old? And you already don’t believe in magic? And people say I’m the cynic.” He seemed to be talking to himself. 

“Magic doesn’t exist. Only babies believe in magic,” insisted Enjolras stubbornly, his troubles forgotten in the heat of his argument with this strange adult. The man shook his head mournfully.

 

“Magic doesn’t exist? Why do I even bother hanging around? Look, kid, I really shouldn’t be getting involved, but this is one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. You’re a child. Be a child. Believe in magic and Santa Claus and all that shit. Actually, don’t believe in Santa Claus. You’re only going to be disappointed. But magic. Now that is real.”

 

“Prove it!” said Enjorlas with as much command as a squeaky, weepy child could. And for a minute, warm blue eyes stared back at him indecipherably. Then they flashed gold, deep and pure and beautiful. And Enjolras found himself suddenly floating. Jaw dropping in amazement, he waved his hands wildly, looking for strings. There were none. He floated up one, two, three feet in the air, and then he was slowly lowered back down. All of this had been done without the stranger moving an inch.

 

“You just did magic!” Enjolras shouted, unable to contain his enthusiasm, and then slapping his hands over his mouth, ready to be chided for forgetting his indoor voice, despite the fact that he was outside. The man chuckled.

 

“Yes I did. But you can’t tell anyone, okay? This is all top secret. People aren’t supposed to be able to do magic.”

 

“Then why did you show me?” asked Enjolras. If this was such a big secret, why had he revealed it so readily?

 

“Because you were sad. And while no one would ever mistake me as sentimental, I am a sucker for crying children. Besides, no one should give up on magic that fast.”

 

“I’ll believe forever,” breathed Enjolras, alight with newfound belief. The man smiled, and for the first time there was a twinge of bitterness in it.

 

“No you won’t. In a few years, you’ll have reasoned it all away with logic. Everyone does. But what I want you to promise me is that you’ll never give up your convictions about giving to the people around you. Because your parents are wrong. You’re not ungrateful. You’re kind and aware. Don’t lose that, okay? Never forget that the world is not fair. And then go out and change that.”

 

“I will,” promised Enjolras, passionately, “I will.” He jumped up and dusted the sand off his trousers. But when he looked up from brushing off the dirt, the man was gone. There wasn’t even a footprint in the sand to indicate he had been there. Enjolras had spun around wildly. And then he saw a clearly marked trail near where he had emerged from the forest. He could have sworn it wasn’t there before. Grinning, he took off after it, and was completely impressed when it led him to his parent’s tent where they were searching frantically for him. Magic!

  
That very night they had packed up their things and went home, Enjolras sulking in the backseat of the car. But Enjolras never forgot the very important lesson he learned that day, one that the stranger had not meant to drive home so fully. Magic was real and, Enjolras decided, could help the world.

* * *

 

**Chapter One**

 

Grantaire hated giving tours. Okay, no, that was a lie. What he hated were the tours he gave, filled with lies and deceptions and altered history. But he had wanted to give tours and he had wanted to keep his secrets, so here he was, giving tours he hated.

 

Really he only did it for the kids. He didn’t need the money, but once or twice a month, he would sober up and drag his sorry ass out of bed at a respectable time to start a weekend of tours. It was fun. He would take them to all the public-approved rooms of the castle, tell them incorrect accounts of what had gone on, and end the whole thing with a set of magic tricks that looked standard but actually weren’t, for the simple fact that they were real magic. Then he would shuffle them off to the gift shop and call it a day.

 

Occasionally he also let groups of people rent the guest wing of the castle, but that was a lot more hassle and much more rare. Both services were relatively new in the castle’s history, but helped alleviate some of the boredom of the ages. And Grantaire got bored a lot.

 

Today’s tour group was the normal collection of eager kids, tolerant parents, and college students from the university down the street. Grantaire was reluctantly sober and awake. It was the perfect combination. Actually, Grantaire really loved the tours, because he loved the kids’ excitement and their willingness to believe the tales he spun. College kids were typically too jaded and the adults too mature to believe in any of the magic he talked about.

 

“Ok people, royalty, sorcerers, and wizards, step right up if you’re here for the tour!” called Grantaire, popping into the room with a loud spectacle of glitter and smoke. As the kids cheered and the college students looked for the trap door that they wouldn’t find, Grantaire surveyed his crowd.

 

Tours were free. Grantaire had more money than he could spend in his lifetime, even predicting the current course of inflation, and he firmly believed anyone who wanted to see the famed castle of Merlin and King Arthur should have that chance, finances be damned. Today’s collection was a rather small crowd, but it was rather early in the morning. Grantaire had no doubt there would be more kids at his afternoon tour. As he looked around, his gaze stopped on a collection of three college students, or more specifically, the blond one in the middle. The student looked incredibly familiar, although Grantaire couldn’t place him. And the guy was staring straight at Grantaire intently. His breath caught in his throat at such an intense scrutiny, and he quickly wrenched his eyes away, back to the jumping kids in front of him.

 

“So, before we start, I want to know who I’m talking to. Shout if you’re royalty! Sorcerers? Wow, quite a lot of you! And wizards, who’s a wizard! Yes, adults and teens, I’m talking to you too. Let’s try that again. Can I get a big shout for royalty! Sorcerers! Wizards! Okay, great, you guys are great!” Grantaire babbled naturally and smoothly as he started walking backwards to lead the group around the courtyard and then into the entrance hall. He carefully didn’t look at the eyes he felt boring into his head. Where had he seen that person before?

 

“And this! This is where King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table practised their skills. Does anyone know what it takes to be a knight?” The tour went well, from teaching some basic sword fighting moves to the audience, to bringing them to the “royal” chambers which were actually located in one of the guest wings of the castle, to the dungeons, to the great cavern where the dragon Killagarah had been kept. Finally it ended in the gift shoppe which he told everyone had been the blacksmith’s shop, which was a lie. He couldn’t even remember what this room had originally been. He was pretty sure it had been some sort of storage unit, maybe for linens.

 

On weekends with tours, he hired a college student or two to dress up in people’s false perception of the fashion of the time and sell trinkets. Cosette, a bright young pre-med student, was on duty today and gave Grantaire a cheerful wave as he led the motley collection inside.

 

As he stood watching the kids beg their parents for souvenirs, three university students approached him, including the blond one who had caught his eye earlier. Grantaire presented them with his best beam.

 

“Can I help you?” The three men glanced at each other while Grantaire waited, not very patiently. His patience for people had run out about half a lifetime ago.

 

“Uh, yes, my name is Enjolras, I go to school -”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” interrupted Grantaire. “What do you want?” Because none of older kids ever approached him unless they wanted something. He mentally checked his employees. He could stand to hire another few kids if that’s what they were after. God knows he could afford them, and university was expensive. The student, Enjolras, looked flustered.

 

“Uh, I, that is to say, we would like to request, um, I know you have rented out rooms in the castle for conferences before, and I am leader of a club, Les Amis de L’ABC, which is a French pun for -”

 

“The abaised, yes, get to the point,” nodded Grantaire. He was rather fluent in a variety of languages. Sometimes when he got bored he learnt a new one just for fun, and he was often bored. Enjolras, no longer flustered but starting to look quite annoyed, managed a pinched smile, as one of the students next to him sniggered silently.

 

“Right, right, anyway, we were looking for somewhere to meet and -”

 

“Doesn’t the school have to provide you with a meeting space?” The guy’s face was turning rather red at this point. It was the most entertainment Grantaire had had in a long time.

 

“Yes,” he gritted out over the snickers of his friend, “but we are not school sanctioned.”

 

“Oh of course you’re not.” They called themselves friends of the abaised! Why on earth would the school was a pro-equality group parading around their campus raising awareness? They wouldn’t, that’s what.

 

“So we are looking for a place to meet, and you seem to have the space and time,” he continued loudly as if Grantaire had not spoken. Finished, he relaxed slightly and the vein on his neck stopped throbbing. Grantaire nodded willingly.

 

“And who told you that?” he asked pleasantly in response. Enjolras drew himself up as if preparing for a battle. It was rather admirable, or it would be if now not only was one friend openly laughing but the other hiding a grin.

 

“Cosette. She’s part of the group.” Grantaire leveled a glare at his assistant who gave a cheery wave as if she hadn’t just betrayed him. Maybe he should fire her. Nah, she was too good with the kids. When he turned back, Enjolras looked pleased, as if to finally get one up on Grantaire. The happy expression jarred uncomfortably at Grantaire’s memory. Where did he know this kid from?

 

“So you want to rent part of my castle once a week to have meetings about the abaised?” Grantaire repeated dryly. Apparently unable to detect sarcasm, Enjolras nodded earnestly.

 

“If that’s not too much trouble.” Grantaire smelled a rat. This all seemed very suspicious and planned, and he didn’t like it. But, also, he was very bored. And this promised entertainment at least. So he shrugged and smiled.

 

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just tell me one thing - do I know you from somewhere? I’ve got a great memory for faces, but I’m not placing yours.” The student stiffened and shook his head frantically.

 

“No, no I don’t think so.” Well that was an extreme reaction. Then again, Grantaire figured that even if he had previously met the kid, it would make sense for him to not remember, seeing as anyone with any sense would do their best to forget Grantaire’s ugly mug as soon as possible.

 

“Okay, whatever. Look, bring your group over on Monday because I’ll be doing tours all day tomorrow. And then I’ll show you guys where you can go and where you can’t go. And let’s not make it take all day. I have shit to do.” Then he went to go help some of the kids bickering over the proper way to hold a sword. Now this he knew a thing or two about.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, here’s how it’s going to be. It is too early to be awake and too early to be sober. However, while I am extremely talented and thus can do one despite all odds, but I absolutely cannot do both. So. I am going to drink, no one is going to complain, and you’ll get your tour. Deal?”

Grantaire was going to kill someone. Not just any someone, a specific someone. Whichever someone was currently ringing his doorbell. He was going to kill that someone and put their head on a spike like in the olden days for the birds to peck at. Groaning, he checked his watch. Seven in the morning. Who the hell rang at seven in the morning on a Monday? Someone was going to die.

 

“Hold your fucking horses, I’m coming!” Grabbing a mostly full bottle of probably priceless wine from the counter, Grantaire popped off the cork as he headed to the door, left his quarters, half jogged across the courtyard, and reached the castle wall. The ringing echoed around his hung over head. It was too early to be sober.

 

“What?” he snapped, throwing open the ancient wood doors. Enjolras, his two friends, Cosette, and a crowd of nervous looking kids stared at him. Grantaire briefly noted that he probably looked like a mess, still in an old tattered shirt and sweatpants with bags the size of France under his eyes. However, the time had long past where Grantaire felt embarrassment, so he plunged forward easily.

 

“Really? I know I said Monday, but I’m pretty sure I did not say ass crack of dawn Monday. Come back later, I’m going back to bed.” He moved to shut his door, but Enjolras stuck a dainty foot in the way. The early morning glare intensified.

 

“You said you had things to do.” Oh right, that lie. Grantaire swore under his breath. “So we came early. Are you letting us in or not?”

 

“Who’s doing whom a favor again?” Grantaire grumbled as he moved aside to let them in.

 

“Impressive grammar!” pipped up a small kid decked out in a fierce array of colors and patterns. Grantaire blinked. It was too early for this shit too.

 

“Look, here’s how it’s going to be. It is too early to be awake and too early to be sober. However, while I am extremely talented and thus can do one despite all odds, but I absolutely cannot do both. So. I am going to drink, no one is going to complain, and you’ll get your tour. Deal?” There were nods all around. He absently realized he would have to learn their names. That was inconvenient. But first he would give the tour.

 

Drinking the wine directly out of the bottle, Grantaire led them around his grounds and his modernized kitchen that they could use for any dietary needs. Then he brought them to Uther’s old war room, which he used for conferences and conventions. It should work nicely for this social justice group. Plus, there were still some old swords and maces on the wall for decoration that really added a festive atmosphere. The best part was that because it was Uther’s old room, there nothing potentially magic in it.

 

“What’s the history of this room?” asked one of the larger kids, looking around. Grantaire appreciated his tattoos and thus gave him a mostly honest answer.

 

“King Arthur’s father used this as his planning room. See those swords over the throne? Those were his. And this table is supposedly an original. Friends, you’re practically touching royalty here.” Before the muscular kid could respond (and he wasn’t really a kid, none of them were kids, but Grantaire called everyone a kid, because they all were to him), Enjolras colored and stepped forward.

 

“As a group concentrating on justice, we do not approve of the monarchy, especially not a monarch who terrorized his subjects,” snapped the student. Grantaire shrugged.

 

“He only terrorized people who could do magic. Not a big deal.” Actually it had been a big deal, but his family had been exempt due to their special position in society. Not that he hadn’t hated Uther’s politics, he had, but the man hadn’t personally bugged him. Then Grantaire had an idea. It was a terrible idea, but he disregarded the caution easily. He was constantly bored, remember?

 

“You want someplace better? Okay. This way.” Grabbing a torch, because this part of the castle had not been outfitted with reliant electric lights, he headed down an unused corridor, watching his row of ducklings (students) follow and appreciate the hanging tapestries with approval. Then he pulled open an old door, lit up the room, and stepped aside.

 

“This,” he said with a flourish, lighting the rest of the torches with a speck of magic that looked damn good if he did say so himself, “is where King Arthur and the Knights of the Roundtable met.” The room he used for the tour was much more gaudy, with an oval table instead of a round table. This was the real room and in the section of the castle he rarely let visitors. But he was feeling generous despite the early morning wake up, although that might have more to do with their enchanting leader than anything else. The group entered reverently. Suddenly frowning, a bald man addressed Grantaire.

 

“I thought you said one of the other rooms was where they met.”

 

“Oh, that’s just for the public-approved tour. This is the real room. There are, my friend, two tours. The family tour and the public tour. Let me tell you, King Arthur met here. What would he want with the upstairs room? No privacy there, believe me. And far too much gold. The public likes gold. Arthur? Not so much. Now, is your fearless leader content to meet here?” Enjolras turned with a delighted grin.

 

“This is perfect, thank you!”

 

“And the best part is you won’t even have to wake me up to use the room. Let me show you.” Since Arthur and Merlin had needed secrecy for many of their missions, official and unofficial, there was a small passage in the room that led to outside the castle wall. Grantaire would just have to outfit the room with a few detection spells so he would know if they went snooping and it was perfect.

 

Since the room was decided, the students (Les Amis de L’ABC, thank you very much) took the time to introduce themselves. Grantaire listened with half a mind and used the other half to carefully monitor the castle. In that time he finished his bottle of wine. That was his cue to leave.

 

“Well all you charming folks can get to your meeting. Let yourself out please. I’m going back to bed.” And that’s exactly what he did, after carefully setting a spell to wake him should they venture off the beaten path. After all, there were a lot of magical relics in this old castle of his. He was only fortunate there were none in Arthur’s room, because it was Arthur and some of his father’s paranoia lingered, despite his relationship with Merlin. The only thing the students would be finding in that room was dust. Even Grantaire rarely entered to clean, it was so sacred to him.

 

Tasks for the day finished, he curled up in his bed and quickly fell asleep, thoughts of the bright-eyed Enjolras haunting him all the while. Where had he seen that kid before?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first posting on ao3 and I definitely appreciate any and all feedback you wish to share. thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you’ll come?” Grantaire considered it. What did he have to do today? Clean, drink, clean, maybe some reading in the library if he felt like it, drink, paint a little, drink, clean. It was a normal day. 
> 
> “I suppose I could make room. Let me know when you young whippersnappers are here and I’ll stop by for a few.” Grantaire clapped Enjolras on the shoulder even as the student mouthed the word “whippersnappers” incredulously. Having successfully steamrolled the young student, he was about to make his excuses when he had a sudden realization.
> 
> “I know why you look familiar!” he burst out in glee.

Drinking and mopping at the same time was not a good idea. However, each action by itself would have been painfully boring, so Grantaire had considered it genius to combine them. It was not a good idea. The proof was in the spilled mop bucket, leaking soapy water everywhere and the sticky handle of his mop from sloshing vodka on it. It was very difficult to mop with one hand and very difficult to drink with none, so Grantaire had to compromise. He would not be attempting to sip from a levitated bottle again.

 

At that moment an alarm rang, alerting Grantaire the presence of someone besides himself in the castle. Reluctantly he banished the mess of soap and water and vodka and set the mostly empty bottle on an old wooden table to start mopping again in earnest. After all, he wasn’t worried about the visitor themself. You could only get in with a key, and the only person who had a key was Cosette, for work although she sometimes let Enjolras borrow it, for the club, which had started meeting here last week in earnest. Besides, he was cleaning the entrance way, so he would be easy to find.

 

Sure enough, a few seconds later Enjolras entered the scene, looking as dainty and dapper as always. Grantaire waved a greeting, sloshing water out of the soap bucket again. Yes, mopping should really not be done drunk.

 

“Good morning, Enjolras!” he said cheerfully, abandoning the mop in the bucket to retrieve his vodka. Enjolras wrinkled his nose delicately. He had gathered in the first few meetings that Enjolras despaired of drinking, and Grantaire did little else. It helped combat the boredom, but it didn’t help gain Enjolras’ favor.

 

“It’s the afternoon,” he responded stiffly. There was a pause as Grantaire checked the watch on his wrist. It very clearly said 11:00 AM. Sighing, he unclipped it and threw it into the large garbage can he brought with him when he cleaned. Another watch ruined by the castle’s energies.

 

“Never mind. Anyway, what’s up?” The alcohol happily burned his throat as he swallowed it. Enjolras looked disproving.

 

“Were you, uh, mopping while drinking?”

 

“Is it really that surprising?” the caretaker countered. With a frown he realized the bottle was empty. That was disappointing. He shook the bottle upside down just to be sure and one lone drop fell out. It really was empty then. Well, now he just wanted to tackle this conversation with Enjolras so he could retrieve another bottle from the wine cellar.

 

“You know, for someone in charge of an ancient, priceless relic of history, you are rather careless sometimes. How did you even get this job?” Enjolras demanded. His hair was a fiery gold today and he seemed to be practically glowing in his disapproval. Grantaire felt that he would like the glow better if it wasn’t directed at him. At least Enjolras provided great entertainment from the dull monotony of cleaning.

 

“It’s hereditary. Is that the word? This job has been in my family for ages. Since the actual Merlin and King Arthur, or so the legend goes. I’m just one in a long line. Anyway are you here to bother me or does this visit have a purpose? Because as much as I love just idly chatting, this floor won’t clean itself.” Okay, so the last part was a bit of a lie, but if Grantaire didn’t engage in manual cleaning, he would be even more bored. There wasn’t much to do around here.

 

“Would you like to come to tonight’s meeting?” Enjolras blurted out. Grantaire nearly dropped the empty bottle. He raised an eyebrow.

 

“Excuse me?” The sentence was not computing with his brain. “You want me to join your top secret boy band? I get to join N*sync?” Because they really acted like an exclusive group. Grantaire never bothered them during meetings, but he certainly sensed a feeling of elitism about the “validity” of their causes. Enjolras blinked and then reddened.

 

“We’re not a secret boy band. We’re a collection of friends dedicated to-”

 

“Yes, yes, I know, you’ve explained it. Many times. Question is, why are you asking me along?”

 

“Since you’re kind enough to let us use this space for free, you should know what we do and what we stand for and -”

 

“I told you, it’s not kindness. I have no need of money, got enough thank you, and really you’re doing me the favor. I’m super bored all the time. At least you guys provide entertainment in my day.” Interrupting Enjolras was becoming a bad habit. But Enjolras made the best annoyed faces when he did. It really wasn’t Grantaire’s fault.

 

“So you’ll come?” Grantaire considered it. What did he have to do today? Clean, drink, clean, maybe some reading in the library if he felt like it, drink, paint a little, drink, clean. It was a normal day.

 

“I suppose I could make room. Let me know when you young whippersnappers are here and I’ll stop by for a few.” Grantaire clapped Enjolras on the shoulder even as the student mouthed the word “whippersnappers” incredulously. Having successfully steamrolled the young student, he was about to make his excuses when he had a sudden realization.

 

“I know why you look familiar!” he burst out in glee. Enjolras gave him a cautious look that Grantaire waved away. “Come on! Let me show you!” Grabbing Enjolras’ hand, he pulled him to the library, the public library, that is. Well the one he showed on tours. It was actually Grantaire’s private library. But many of the texts that came with the castle were a) too important to let people breathe near and b) filled with information the public should not have access too. Plus the castle’s official library was located far away from the main area of the castle and that would be a pain on tours.

 

Grantaire’s library was one of his pride and joys. It was filled with first editions of pretty much every book he had ever read and then some. He had bought each book new, although because of the passing of time many of them no longer looked such. After all, not many books were from the twenty-first century. He had also crammed the place with ancient art and sculptures. Chances were that that room had the highest property value of the whole place, if you didn’t count the gold leaf on many things, which Grantaire never did.

 

He released Enjolras’ hand when they entered the library and went straight for his classics section. Flipping through one of his favorite illustrated book on the history of ancient culture and art, he stopped at a painting he knew well and held it up to Enjolras’ head.

 

“Apollo! See? You look like the god Apollo!” Enjolras’ rolled his eyes good naturedly, looking oddly relieved. Perhaps he thought Grantaire was going to compare him to a less savory individual.

 

“Thank you, Grantaire.” Enjolras looked around the enormous library. Grantaire noticed with trepidation that an idea was entering his admittedly lovely head. “There’s quite a collection here, you know.”

 

“I’m rather proud of it. This room actually has the most security in the castle. What’s in here cannot be replaced. Everything is an original copy, and some of it dates back to the castle’s founding, but those you have to wear gloves to touch. Or they fall apart. Actually they fall apart if you breath on them wrong.” Half life. The first part was false. It was not the most protected room, but by saying it was he directed suspicions to a controlled environment. However, the contents couldn’t be replaced. So it was part true.

 

“Could I, uh, could I come here sometimes? To study and find resources? I promise to treat everything with the utmost respect.” Grantaire should say no. He knew that. Objectively it was a terrible idea. But it would also mean Enjolras was around more. And Grantaire rather enjoyed the company. Besides, he might as well share his books, right? Actually no, sharing was not one of his spiritual gifts. And yet his continued eternity of boredom was not appealing.

 

“Sure,” Grantaire shrugged. “I’ll see about getting you a key so you don’t have to keep using Cosette’s. And dude, stop calling me whenever you want to come over. The phone is for business. It’s an official line. Just come when you want. I’ll know.”

 

“I don’t want to show up with no warning,” sniffed Enjolras. “If you had a cell phone, this wouldn’t be an issue, you know.”

 

“I can barely get the lights to work in the castle half the time and you want me to try a cell phone? Electricity and technology is not reliable in a place like this. It’s too old and finicky. You guys don’t get reception. Why would I? No I’ll stick with the landline, thank you very much. Although you should know I only installed it so people can call about tours and shit. Not so you and your buddies can call whenever you want to chat or discuss your schedules or whatever. Pretty soon people will think I’m sociable and we can’t have that.”

 

“No, we really can’t,” agreed Enjolras, appearing to hide a grin. ”Well, thank you. See you tonight.”

 

“Yeah, and tell everyone to wipe their shoes off because I’m mopping!” shouted Grantaire at Enjolras’ retreating back. He laughed at Enjolras’ eye roll, and then the student was gone and the castle was empty again. Grantaire took a look around him and the silence that had fallen.

  
With a sudden surge of energy, he started the music always waiting to be played, retrieved the mop, and danced around the slick floors, singing to music of all ages at the top of his lungs. Really just a typical day. The extra kick in his steps certainly wasn’t from an invite to the super secret boy band. Nope, not at all. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Humans don’t change over time. They don’t. The attitudes people have towards the financially destitute are exactly the same in the Victorian Era when the poor laws were enacted. Sure, popular causes get picked up now and then by the media to make them look progressive but that’s all a show. The people in charge thrive off of major oppression and fake promises of progress and equality. And the hope keeps people content to live in the giant machine corruption, unaware even of their roles,” Grantaire spat out. “At this rate you’ll all be dead before thirty because with your ideals; the people in charge can’t afford to let you live. And what good do you do then? None. Martyrdom never has the effect the martyr hopes for.”

Immortality was a drag. No, that wasn’t quite it. Immortality was annoying. No. Boring, perhaps? Not enough oomph. Well, several hundred years hadn’t given Grantaire the perfect word to describe immortality. But he knew one thing that it certainly was: disenchanting. He forgot that sometimes, as the days in solitude dragged by unending. But he was getting a pretty good reminder tonight.

 

Enjolras shone in the torchlight, someone making the roundtable feel like it began and ended at his place. He was in his element, glowing and preaching. He was beautiful.

 

And Grantaire was disenchanted. Not of Enjolras, for sure, but the things of which he spoke. Equality, justice, democracy, revolution. Grantaire had outlived many revolutions, even if they typically occurred in other countries, and he was familiar with the aftereffects. In fact, his one vacation ever had involved an attempted revolution in France, and it was perhaps the most dismal failure he had ever seen. Enjolras’ aims were cute, but they would never come to fruition.

 

“Excuse me?” asked a chilling voice. Grantaire realized belatedly he had said that last bit out loud. Well, that’s what happened if you were several hundred years into the habit of not censoring yourself. You said things you should’ve kept to yourself. But Grantaire had spoken aloud and there was no help for it.

 

“I said your aims are cute, but they’ll never actually happen,” Grantaire repeated calmly, deeply aware of every eye on him. He was sitting in the back, preferring to stay out of sight for what was supposed to just be a night of observation. Well he had wrecked that.

 

“You don’t know that,” snapped Enjolras. Grantaire did, actually, and he said as much.

 

“Think about the history of our world, especially since Europeans discovered the joys of imperialism. Think of the history of our country. Not a whole lot has changed. I mean the sentiments are nice, they really are. But it takes hundreds of years for one thing to change, for one right to be gained. And we’ve gone backwards in some areas! People are, at their center, corrupt and power hungry. You can’t change this - it’s human nature!” The faces of the Amis grew steadily stonier as Grantaire spoke, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

“Look, what you’re after is nice. It really is. And I wish I believed it was possible. But you’re like little children. Literally.” Grantaire remembered with a rush a kid he had comforted years back. “But actually! look, you’re like this kid I once met. He was the cutest little thing, barely eight years old, and mad about the injustices of the world. And that was great. Because he had every right to be mad! But he was also eight. So I knew he was going to outgrow that because everyone does. But you lot - you lot still have that mentality, that the world is unfair and you can make it better. You’re like that eight year old! And it was a lot cuter on him. But you’ve got to grow up now. You’ve got to recognize that this world is inherently flawed. And so the society we live in will always be flawed. I study history. I know what I’m talking about. Everyone always says history repeats itself. That’s not true. It goes in repetitive patterns, yes, but in all honesty, history gets worse as we gain better tools to hurt people with. Take my advice. Stay out of it.”

 

A tense silence followed Grantaire’s words. He knew he sounded bitter and cynical and cruel, but they had to hear this. It was the truth. If they didn’t recognize the futility of their actions, they would die an early death. Finally Enjolras spoke.

 

“I’m sorry you feel that way. But as you said, change does happen, even if it takes a long time. And I refuse to give up just because I might not be able to immediately see my impact in this world. There are ways to change society, but it won’t happen if we all give up right now like you’ve done. And what’s wrong with a childlike faith? If every person had the faith of an eight year old, half the battle would be won!” he countered. Grantaire smirked, his entire face devoid of joy. He remembered World War II. He had opened the castle to refugees from around the world, and the things he had seen would haunt him forever. He had also cared for a large number of smuggled children. Their experiences were something he couldn’t get out of his mind.

 

“Children see some of the worst cruelties of the world. Being a child is not the answer you seek. They typically suffer first in injustices.” He sucked in a breath, remembering the sharp cheekbones and dirty faces of his childhood. Of kids huddled together as their parents burned. He remembered his sister, sobbing and shivering in his arms as their father raged about for something inconsequential like a dropped plate. Shaking off the memories like drops of water, he appraised the group of fresh faced students.

 

“Humans don’t change over time. They don’t. The attitudes people have towards the financially destitute are exactly the same in the Victorian Era when the poor laws were enacted. Sure, popular causes get picked up now and then by the media to make them look progressive but that’s all a show. The people in charge thrive off of major oppression and fake promises of progress and equality. And the hope keeps people content to live in the giant machine corruption, unaware even of their roles,” Grantaire spat out. “At this rate you’ll all be dead before thirty because with your ideals; the people in charge can’t afford to let you live. And what good do you do then? None. Martyrdom never has the effect the martyr hopes for.”

 

A horrified silence met Grantaire’s words. Resolutely he met the eyes of each person there, letting them see the truth in them.

 

“Do you really believe that?” asked Enjolras finally, his voice cracking at the end. Grantaire gave a sardonic smile and swept his arms out wide.

 

“These days I don’t believe in anything.” Then, because he doubted his presence would be welcomed any longer, he left the Roundtable room and retreated to his own quarters.

 

He had a few rooms in the lower levels that had always belonged to his family. There were two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. He had, over time, added in a proper bathroom and modernized the entire mini apartment as well as claimed another room to paint in. It had taken years of messing with both electricity and magic to combine the two in a way to have a reliable source of light and hot water.

 

The rooms, much like the rest of the castle, were a precarious mix of old and new. Personal belongings from throughout the ages, ranging from a gas mask to a cassette player to some old goblets littered the area. He moved through the clutter easily, flopping down on the sagging couch. He remembered when he got it new, but now it just looked like any other used couch. With a wave, he banished the cloud of dust that arose as he sat. He really should clean his own area.

 

Grantaire considered flipping on the television, still a modern marvel to him after all this time, but decided to pick up some sketching. Enjolras looked particularly glorious today, even horrified and angry at him. Grantaire wanted to capture it on paper. Once he had penciled in an approximation of Enjolras, he started adding the other Amis. He wondered if they were all mad at him. Hopefully not. He wasn’t very good at dealing with anger directed towards him.

 

After a while the Amis started filing out of the Roundtable Room. Grantaire could feel the wards move and shift to let them through. One, however, stayed there. Confused, Grantaire made his way back up to the room. Joly, the resident nursing student, sat at the table, hands folded and patient. Grantaire hovered in the doorway.

 

“Everything okay?” Grantaire asked. Joly gave him a delighted, if slightly worried, smile.

 

“Grantaire! I was hoping you would come back here. I wanted to check in with you. Are you okay? You left so fast after speaking up, I was worried.” Grantaire moved cautiously into the room.

 

“I sort of disagreed with everything you guys stood for. I figured it was better if I left the room.”

 

“This is your domain, Grantaire, and besides, a little controversy is good for us. No one was angry. Startled, yes, but not angry. You had good points.” Joly spoke earnestly in a way that reminded Grantaire of his old friend Gwen.

 

“Thanks?”

 

“So anyway, are you okay?” Grantaire managed to finally crack a smile.

 

“You know, my friend, you are a nursing student. You don’t have to check in with my mental well being.” Joly shook his head.

 

“I am a nursing student because I care about people. That includes the entire person, not just physical illnesses. Are you okay?” The question warmed Grantaire even as it startled him. Joly had a large heart - that was something he had learnt these past few weeks. But he was unprepared for how touched he would feel when it was directed towards him.

 

“Quite fine, thanks. Dandy even. Jolly good.” Grantaire considered for a second. What was the most modern way of saying he was fine? “I’m dope.” Joly slowly opened his mouth and then closed it, mouthing the word “dope.” Then he nodded and smiled.

 

“Good.” He stood. “Hey, Bossuet and I were looking for a new drinking buddy. You should come out with us sometime.” Grantaire couldn’t remember the last time he had left the walls of his castle to do anything but buy groceries. This was pretty much a full time job. He hadn’t had friends in even longer. And yet even as Joly offered, he feared it was a result of pity. He had heard their comments about the vast emptiness of his home, and they probably assumed he felt it as deeply as they did. He did. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that people always had ulterior motives when he was concerned. What was Joly’s?

 

“Thanks, but my job is sort of a full time gig, if you haven’t noticed. Have you ever tried to clean a castle? I have. I do, actually! I clean castles. No, not plural, singular. Just this castle. But it takes weeks and by the time you’re done, you have to start over. It’s just a never ending cycle of mopping and dusting and restoring priceless artifacts. And mopping. Did I mention that? Although I recently found that mopping and drinking at the same time is a glorious idea. Messy, but glorious.” Grantaire rambled like a champion as he smoothly escorted a bemused Joly to the exit. “Anyway, thanks again for the invite. See you around?”

 

“You’ll come to the next meeting, right?” Joly asked before he left. Grantaire considered saying no, but the memory of Enjolras proved to be too tempting. He was inextricably drawn to him.

 

“I might stop by, yeah,” said Grantaire causally. Then he smiled, still incredibly touched that Joly had reached out to him. “Hey, see you around?”

 

“Of course! Bye, Grantaire.” And then the castle was empty and quiet once more. Grantaire moved back into the Round Table room to tidy up the space. They left it pretty neat, but it just wasn’t set up to handle twenty first century needs. None of this place really was. As he swept the floor, he noticed one of the amazing fans Feuilly made had dropped the ground. Feuilly was a creative kid, although he had heard the artist complaining to Bahorel that he needed to find a job, no matter how boring and soul-sucking, before the end of the semester or he wouldn’t be able to pay his bills. Pocketing the fan, Grantaire mused over the situation. He might just have an idea.

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There are too many buttons. What on earth am I supposed to do with this thing? Are you sure this is necessary?” complained Grantaire as he poked and prodded the little black rectangle Enjolras had bullied him into buying. 
> 
> “Stop whining. It’s a touch screen. There are literally two buttons. Plus, I programmed my number into it, so now you can reach me whenever you want. That is, uh, if you do want to reach me,” finished Enjolras, looking slightly nervous. Grantaire missed it, however, as preoccupied as he was with trying to figure out how to unlock the screen.

“You want me to do what?” As promised, Grantaire was at the next meeting, only two days after their last. The actual meeting had yet to start, so he had pulled Feuilly aside to discuss some things. At Feuilly’s question, Grantaire waved his arms around enthusiastically.

 

“Please consider it. Your fans are perfect, just amazing. And I’ve been looking for something like this to put in my gift shop for years now. People would eat this up. Look, I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you lots. Whatever you want. And in return, you could make some fans for me to sell and whatever else you think might fit. You’ll get credit, I promise. The display will have your name on it.”

 

“Display?” repeated Feuilly, slack jawed and running a nervous hand through his red hair. Grantaire nodded encouragingly.

 

“What do you say? You’d be doing me a huge favor here.” Feuilly’s freckled face broke into a huge beam.

 

“Yeah! Sure! I can’t - wow!” he exclaimed. Grantaire smiled in return and clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder. Then he retreated to the back of the room to watch the proceedings as a removed spectator. The meeting was just as foolhardy and optimistic as the last. This time, however, Grantaire watched in silence, sketching absently on an old sketchbook of his.

 

When the meeting was over, Grantaire was quite surprised that most of the members came up separately to him to express their happiness at his presence, especially after last time’s catastrophe. Grantaire handled the unexpected attention with as much grace and poise as he handled everything. That is to say, he rambled uncomfortably until he was finally left alone. When they were gone, he engaged in his normal routine of cleaning the room and emptying the trash. As a kid, he never would have guessed he would end up as a glorified janitor. As he locked the room, Enjolras appeared by his shoulder. Grantaire nearly jumped and threw the key.

 

“Jeepers, Enjolras, warn a guy, would you? What are you doing here?” Enjolras, who had been caught on the word “jeepers,” shook his head like he was shaking water out of his ears. Then he straightened his shoulders.

 

“You said I could use the library if I wished. Well, I do.”

 

“Yeah but right now?” frowned Grantaire. He had things to do. He wasn’t sure what things, but things. And he couldn’t concentrate on said things if he was keeping half a mind out on someone messing with his library. He knew he had offered, but still. Things.

 

“It’s late, and I want someplace quiet to work. Please?” asked Enjolras. Well how could Grantaire deny a golden face like that? And the use of the word please! It was unheard of, it really was. So although Grantaire hemmed and hawed for a few more minutes, he gave in quite easily and helped Enjolras find the expansive library.

 

“It’s not really organized,” he admitted as they walked in. Grantaire flicked the lights. “You’ll sort of have to make do and search. It’s not catalogued either. I don’t really know what I’ve got. That’s on my list of things to do. However, that sounds even more boring than mopping, if possible, so I’ve been putting it off for some time. Anyway, use what you like. Anything you break, you replace with an identical copy. Most of these no longer have identical copies or even copies from the same decade, so don’t break anything. It is a little organized by year, and a little organized by subject and a little organized by neither. If you want something specific and can’t find it, hollar. No matter where I am, I should be able to hear you. Best of luck, my young grasshopper!” With a cackle, Grantaire left Enjolras alone in the library. He had enough wards that he wasn’t worried about Enjolras going where he was supposed to.

 

Grantaire gave Enjolras a few hours in the library, trying to pretend he wasn’t itching to return there and hover possessively over his books. He had offered. Maybe he was regretting that offer, but still, he had offered. When he could stand it no longer, he returned to the library. He was met with the most delighted smile he had seen on the student’s face yet.

 

“Grantaire, your library is fantastic! How do you have all these resources?” gushed Enjolras. He was surrounded by a small mountain of books Grantaire was amused to see.

 

“Having fun?” he remarked dryly. Enjolras nodded.

 

“Look at these! And first editions too! They must be worth - well, a lot of money! Thank you for letting me look at them.” Enjolras flashed another beam. Grantaire felt a bit like he was going to faint at the intensity of the smile.

 

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” Grantaire said, trying to pretend his face wasn’t flushing up. What was this? Over a thousand years old and blushing like a teenager? It was embarrassing, that’s what it was. “Like I said, you’re welcomed to them any time. Did you find what you were looking for? Again, sorry that there’s no real organization. But you look like you made out okay. How - how many books did you grab? Because, uh, you look pretty covered in them.” Enjolras had made some sort of fort, it looked like. He was completely surrounded by books from all time periods, most of them centering around, well you guessed it, social change and political theories through the ages. Grantaire groaned.

 

“You know you are so predictable and boring? Really? I’ve got thousands of books and you’re picking ones you’ve probably already read? Boring indeed! How about you read one of Queen Elizabeth I’s actual journals? I liberated them from historical poachers once upon a time. Granted, Liz would’ve wanted that. That was personal stuff. England would not have taken it well if they had found out dear old Queen Bess wasn’t a virgin and that she hated the whole social construct of virginity. You should read about her lovers. Much most interesting.” As Grantaire chatted, he swept an expert eye over the place, making sure nothing more was out of order than his initial impression.

 

“You should get Wifi here,” commented Enjolras in return, ignoring Grantaire’s previous statements. Grantaire paused in his appraisal.

 

“Wifi?” Quickly Grantaire wracked his brains for knowledge. Nope. He had no idea what that was. “Like why fly?” he offered with a winning smile. Enjolras stared at him incredulously.

 

“What?”

 

“Why fly? Like an aeroplane. Am I right? Okay, sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Grantaire admitted easily. “I’ve heard it in reference to the Internet though. On TV. I know what TV is. I have one. I used to have one of the first TVs ever, but then I upgraded recently so I can get color. And cable. HBO is wonderful. I also really like The Walking Dead. Do you think we’re going to get a zombie apocalypse?” Grantaire was quite proud of himself for that. It had been very difficult working the electronics to get a working television with cable. But it made the lonely nights a little better, so it was worth it. Enjolras nodded slowly, like he couldn’t dare himself to speak just yet. When he responded, there was great hesitation.

 

“Okay, yes, television is great and Wifi is involved with the internet. Do you, uh, have a computer or a laptop?”

 

“Cosette set one up in the shop,” proclaimed Grantaire cheerfully. She had even helped him make a website for the castle and tours so people could check online when the place was open to the public. He used it sometimes on his own to watch funny cat videos, because everyone loved cats. Grantaire occasionally kept cats. The last one had been about fifteen years ago now. It was just really hard when they died. Maybe he should get another cat. And then they could watch cat videos together!

 

“Do you think cats like videos?” asked Grantaire.

 

“I’m not even going to ask,” said Enjolras ruefully. “Look why don’t we call it a night and this weekend I’ll come back and set up wifi. Maybe we’ll even get you a cell phone.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” shrugged Grantaire. Enjolras willingly volunteering to spend time with him? Who in their right mind would complain about that? Oh, right, nobody.

 

\----

 

“There are too many buttons. What on earth am I supposed to do with this thing? Are you sure this is necessary?” complained Grantaire as he poked and prodded the little black rectangle Enjolras had bullied him into buying.

 

“Stop whining. It’s a touch screen. There are literally two buttons. Plus, I programmed my number into it, so now you can reach me whenever you want. That is, uh, if you do want to reach me,” finished Enjolras, looking slightly nervous. Grantaire missed it, however, as preoccupied as he was with trying to figure out how to unlock the screen.

 

“It’s not even going to end up mattering if I can’t figure out how to work the blasted thing. Ah!” he shouted as the screen suddenly unlocked. He glanced over to see Enjolras fighting a smirk. “Aw shut it, you. This is all your fault. What’s next? Moonshoes?” Grantaire cackled at his own joke.

 

It was strange walking around the small college town. He remembered Albion and Camelot and all the towns in between, but he hadn’t spent much time outside his castle walls in the last hundred years or so. The place had changed. Even the architecture was different. Everyone walking around were holding devices to similiar his new cell phone. It was hard to pretend that this was all normal.

 

“I still can’t believe you’ve never had a cell phone before,” commented Enjolras as they made their way to a small cafe. Grantaire shrugged and acted like it was nothing new.

 

“I’ve never had people to call before.”  
  
“Not even your family?” Grantaire’s hand tightened on the coffee cup Enjolras was handing him involuntarily. His parents were dead, and he didn’t even know what was going on in his sister’s life anymore. Not that it mattered. He had hated his parents, and his sister had grown resentful of his mediocre magic ability.

 

“No,” he responded, his voice several degrees colder. Enjolras glanced over, surprised, but thankfully asked no more questions. They sat down at a table outside the cafe and sipped their coffee. Grantaire appraised the student before him. He had some questions.

 

“So what’s your deal?” Enjorlas frowned. Grantaire supposed he could have phrased it better, but there was no hope for it. He wasn’t paid for his manners.

 

“I’m sorry?” Although by the way Enjolras sometimes spoke, you could think he was. Grantaire slurped some of his coffee, sadly not laced with anything more alcoholic.

 

“What’s your deal? From what I can tell, you’re hella smart and, based on the quality of your stuff, hella rich. And while this is a good university, it’s not the best. You could probably do better and afford more. But you’re here. Why?” Grantaire thought it was a reasonable question. Enjolras shrugged, looking down at his coffee cup as if it held the answers of the universe. It didn’t, in case you were wondering.

 

“I like this school. I like the history of this place. And besides, most of the top schools my parents basically own. I wanted to be here on my own merits, not anyone else’s. Why do you live in that big castle by yourself when you could be doing anything?” Grantaire should have expected Enjolras would return with his own questions. Grantaire was an object of curiosity for many people. He appeared young. Too young to be alone with no family or connections and tending to a large historical castle by himself. Sometimes Grantaire made himself appear older, but it was a drain on his energy, and he didn’t like to do it if he didn’t have to. So Grantaire shrugged and smile and responded as best he could.

 

“As you can probably tell, I’m a social person,” he winked, “So living in that big old place is really the best spot for me. Besides, it’s a family job. I’m the last descendent which makes it my job. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do what I do.” That part was true. It was very true. He wouldn’t. Enjolras gave a sudden, excited smile.

 

“If this is an old family job, you probably know more about the castle’s history than anyone. Do you believe the rumors that it still holds magic?” Grantaire laughed. He loved questions about magic. Of course he had to lie every time, but they were still fun.

 

“To believe the rumors, I’d have to believe in magic in the first place. Which I don’t. However, it’s good for publicity so I like to encourage it, best I can. That’s why I taught myself some tame magic tricks. To amuse and attract the tourists!” As he spoke, he reached behind Enjolras’ ear and pulled out a quarter. He had actually learnt some fake magic, just to help support this story, but when he performed his tricks, it was all real. That was way more fun, and Grantaire was all about having fun. The only time he had to be truly careful was during the witch hunts of the medieval ages. But even that had been pretty fun.

 

“You don’t believe in it at all?” asked Enjolras, leaning forward intently.

 

“No. Do you?” shrugged Grantaire.

 

“I thought I would scoff at it but now that I’m here...Well it’s hard not to. Everything just seems saturated in mystery and legend and magic. You have to believe a little.” That was the typical view, although Grantaire was surprised Enjolras had adopted it. He seemed a little too consumed with justice and equality to notice anything else.

 

“You should know by now, Enjolras. I don’t believe in anything.” Was this going to escalate into an argument to? And they had been having such a nice time. Enjolras was surprisingly good company, not that Grantaire had much to compare it to as of late.

 

“Did you ever?”

 

“Once,” Grantaire admitted.

 

“What happened?” Enjolras was practically on top of him, so eager was he to hear the response. The magician shrugged.

 

“I grew up.” The bitterness in his voice could make black coffee taste sweet. Still he forced a smile. “And you will too. Everyone does.” Enjolras shook his head in denial.

 

“I won’t. I refuse to.” As with everything Enjolras decided, it was said with ironclad conviction. Grantaire felt incredibly old. How could anyone be so certain? With a wry smile, he responded.

 

“It must be nice to be so sure. The only certainty I have is the promise of an empty bottle.” There was a little too much truth evident in Grantaire’s attempted jest, and thus it fell a bit flat, leaving them with an awkward pause.

 

“So should we see about getting you WiFi?” asked Enjolras finally. Grantaire seized the change in topic with enthusiasm and off they went.

 

A few hours later they were crouched by the fuse box, having accidentally blown the electricity in the castle. Grantaire wasn’t surprised and silently laughed as Enjolras grumbled and cursed at the wires. Any time something new and modern was introduced, the castle needed a burst of magic to help it handle the change. This place was practically sentient, and it had rejected the famed WiFi with a fury.

 

“Here, let me take a look,” Grantaire offered. He knew easily how to appease the fuse box and get the power back on. And if he did it from here, he could integrate a simple, invisible spell which would tie Enjolras’ new additions into the system. Easy.

 

“Fine,” muttered Enjolras, moving aside. Grantaire had the feeling Enjolras didn’t like to admit defeat, even with stubborn, magical fuse boxes. Smirking, the magician approached the box, gave it a hot, golden glare, and pushed a few buttons. With a reluctant groan and a spark, it stuttered back to life. The bare bulbs hanging in the cellar flickered on, and Grantaire blew out the candle in satisfaction.

 

“And that’s how it’s done!” he crowed. Enjolras grumbled some more, but he couldn’t quite squash the smile fighting its way onto his face.

 

“Yeah, yeah, you do live here, you know.”

 

“Really? I’d forgotten. And how long have I lived here now?”

 

“Shut up,” muttered Enjolras with a small shove. Grantaire laughed freely as they made their way back upstairs. Enjolras wanted to try his laptop in the library. They had wired the WiFi for the public part of the castle, Grantaire’s rooms, and the Round Table room.  

 

Enjolras released a triumphant crow when he saw that the internet now worked on his laptop. Grantaire watched him celebrate, an unusually sincere smile on his face. This had been a surprisingly fun day. He hadn’t participated in casual hangouts such as these since he was a kid himself.

 

“You know,” said Enjolras conversationally as he enjoyed the internet on his laptop in the library, “you should get an online organizational system for your library. So you can keep track of what books you have and where they’re kept. That way when you’re looking for one, you just search online instead of hunting it down here.” It was a good idea, but Grantaire had neither the time nor the inclination to do it himself.

 

“Do you know anyone who needs a job? Or several someones as this is a big library? I could hire people to do it,” he said, instead of shutting the idea down.

 

“I would do it in a heartbeat,” shrugged Enjolras. “To spend tons of time with these books? Sounds great to me. I bet Combeferre would feel the same. And Jehan. I could ask around? Are you serious about this?”

 

“It’s probably about time this place was organized. Besides, you lot always seem to be crawling around underfoot anyway. You might as well be here in an official capacity.” Grantaire couldn’t believe he was actually offering his space so freely. What was it about Enjolras that convinced him to move past centuries of paranoia and let someone in?

 

Grantaire was still asking that question four days later when Enjolras, Combeferre, and Jehan were officially employed by the castle. Somehow in that time, everyone had decided it was totally cool to use the place as their own personal hangout zone. Grantaire left his quarters in the morning to find people in the kitchen eating breakfast. He mopped around backpacks and dusted in between laptops and cell phones.

 

And the castle glowed with life. He had forgotten how beautiful the place was when other people inhabited it besides him. For the first time in decades, Grantaire didn’t feel lonely or bored. It was amazing. He couldn’t remember being so happy.

 

“Hey R, can I talk to you?” Courfeyrac bounded up to him as Grantaire counted inventory for the castle’s gift shop. Enjolras was trying to convince him to set up an electronic system for this too, but Grantaire still preferred paper. With all the technology that the students brought, he thought his poor castle couldn’t possibly handle any more.

 

“What’s up?” Strangely enough, Grantaire had become friends with the Amis in his own right. Of course, he had already known Marius and Cosette from hiring them, and Feuilly once he started selling his fans. But now he felt like he was truly friends with all of the students hanging out in his home. It was a novel experience.

 

“So Jehan’s birthday is coming up.” Ah yes, Grantaire had enjoyed watching the awkward flirting between the two boys. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. “And I wanted to throw him a surprise birthday party. And you know Jehan, he’s really into like magic and dragons and fantasy stuff, and I thought it would be really cool if we had the party here. Would that be possible?”

 

Grantaire didn’t even hesitate to agree. Jehan Prouvaire was the darling of the group. In many ways the student reminded Grantaire of Gwen, all bright colors and love and hidden strength, not to mention a refusal to compromise on his morals. Plus, Grantaire was pretty sure he had the perfect room.  

 

“How’s this?” he asked Courfeyrac, leading him into the Coronation Hall. Grantaire rarely included this room in the tour and the maintenance was incredibly challenging. The walls were covered with intricate, glimmering tapestries of woven scenes with dragons and other mythical beasts. There were gold accents and two deep maroon thrones. Grantaire kept Arthur and Merlin’s original crowns in glass cases above the thrones. Courfeyrac’s eyes practically popped out of his skull upon seeing the room.

 

“Wow,” he whispered. Grantaire grinned in pleasure. He knew it was impressive, but he loved seeing people’s reactions to it.

 

“What do you think? A few tables and balloons and we could have a real party. Plus there’s a servant’s entrance that leads straight to one of the kitchens, and lucky for us it’s a kitchen with electricity.”

 

“Wait so you’ll help?” Courfeyrac beamed at Grantaire. “You’re the best! Okay, what should I do?” The two of them sat down to an impromptu planning session. Grantaire could feel himself growing quite excited. This seemed like the excellent opportunity to pull out a lot of old artifacts. Jehan liked skulls, didn’t he? Grantaire was pretty sure he remembered where the dragon skulls were kept.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know. Okay. You know what you said to me? At Jehan’s party? About how I always ask about the castle and magic and how you know stuff? You were right. I do. And at first it was because I was fascinated by the legends surrounding this area. But now it is because I wanted to talk to you and I don’t know what to say. And you’re so knowledgeable about this stuff so I thought it would be a good place to start a conversation. I wanted you to see that I am interested. In you, that is. But I think my point got lost. Did you have any idea?” Now Grantaire was completely lost.

“Happy Birthday!” the Amis shouted at the top of their lungs. Grantaire grinned in the background as he took in Jehan’s delighted and surprised expression. The student appeared to be bowled over by emotion.

 

“Oh my goodness, thank you!” he cried, clapping his hands over his mouth and taking in the room. The place was completely decked out. Grantaire had never outfitted the room with electric lights, but he had torches and candles lighting up every corner.

 

A magnificent dragon skull hung from the ceiling and the banquet table contained an enormous spread of food, from historically accurate dishes that Grantaire cooked to the largest cake ever seen by man, baked by Bahorel, who apparently liked to make desserts in his spare time. Cosette and Feuilly had hung up a large banner and Courfeyrac had covered the sloping ceilings and ancient carvings and statues with streamers.

 

Grantaire mostly watched the night’s events in the background with a vintage bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. Well, when he said vintage... Anyway he enjoyed watching the hubbub more than he enjoyed participating in it. He may act like a party animal, but at the end of the day, he enjoyed a quiet night and a good drink or five.

 

“Grantaire!” A wild Eponine appeared and threw her arm around his shoulder. “You throw a great party, you know that? This is awesome!” She screamed happily in his ear and then rushed off to talk to Jehan. Grantaire smiled softly before taking a sip of his drink. The liquid burned all the way down. He kept seeing flickers of his old friends in this room, and now he remembered why he rarely used this area. It brought up the past too much.

 

But this was a party. And he refused to be sad. So he gulped down the remainder of his drink, let out a whoop, and joined the dance party in the center of the room. Sure, his moves were a little outdated, but at least he wasn’t doing the waltz. He had done that once in the seventies. Now that had been embarrassing.

 

Near the end of the night, Jehan came up to him with eyes shining.

 

“Courfeyrac told me you did most of the planning. Thank you so much. This has been the most lovely birthday ever. I couldn’t ask for better friends, and I’m so glad that includes you.” Grantaire tried to shrug it off, which was hard when Jehan was clutching both of his hands.

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Happy birthday Jehan. Many happy returns.” Across the room he could see Enjolras chatting cheerfully with Combeferre, his gold hair glinting beautifully in the candlelight. Jehan, catching Grantaire’s gaze, leaned in closer.

 

“Go talk to him,” he smiled, wisps of his hair brushing Grantaire’s face and making his cheeks itch. Then he skipped off to where Courfeyrac was waiting for him, like a Sidhe of old. Perhaps that was why Grantaire found his way over to where Enjolras and Combeferre were talking. Combeferre excused himself almost immediately, claiming to need more cake, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone.

 

“This room is really incredible,” Enjolras wasted no time in saying. Grantaire tried not to wonder if Enjolras would have ever looked at him twice if it weren’t for his castle, as that seemed to be the only thing they talked about except for arguments on the condition of man.

 

“Well thanks,” said Grantaire with a wink, “I designed it myself of course.” Enjolras laughed.

 

“Of course. But the real question is, what poor animal did you kill to display their head as a dragon?”

 

“This skull came with the castle, Enjolras. That thing is older than me.” A true statement, by the way.

 

“But what is it?” pressed Enjolras. Grantaire shrugged.

 

“Legends say dragon. Hell if I know what it really was.”

 

“A dragon, hm?” And now Enjolras appeared completely transfixed with the skull. Grantaire shifted slightly. He wished he understood Enjolras’ obsession with the castle and magic legends. It didn’t seem to pair up with the man fixated on achieving justice no matter the cost.

 

“Should I leave you too alone?” Grantaire joked. “I mean, I don’t think the skull would make a good mate, but you’re welcomed to try.” That jerked Enjolras out of his reverie long enough to laugh.

 

“Point taken. It is a rather handsome skull. Wait - he or she?”

 

“You’ve got me there. It’s a pretty large skull, so I’m going to guess she. Legends say that the lady dragons were larger than the fellas,” Grantaire said, staring up at the skull with Enjolras, even if he would rather just gaze at the man in question instead.

 

“How do you know all this?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire shrugged. You pick it up through the centuries. But he didn’t tell the student that.

 

“It’s sort of my job. Why do you care?” Enjolras appeared startled from the question.

 

“I don’t. I mean, I do. I mean. I don’t know what I mean. I’m just interested. Is that okay?”

 

“Sure, but I feel like you’re the one always asking questions. You should tell me about your normal human life for a change,” Grantaire said. Enjolras nodded thoughtfully.

 

“Somehow I don’t think you’d be interested. It’s pretty typical. I grew up with lots of wealth and privilege, didn’t get along with my parents, and decided to change the world. Same old, same old,” said Enjolras, his voice just a touch too casual to be trusted. Grantaire considered the man in front of him.

 

“Mm,” he said noncommittally. Enjolras fidgeted uncomfortably. As a man of honesty and truth, he wasn’t very good at lying. But tonight was a night of fun, so Grantaire didn’t call him out on it.

 

“You and Combeferre seem to be old friends,” he said instead. Enjolras leapt at the offer of conversation topic.

 

“Yes! We met on an online forum back in middle school. One of the reasons why I decided to go to school here was so that Ferre and I could actually be living in the same place for once. And Combeferre grew up with Courfeyrac, so he pulled him along. Then Jehan was part of the same forum, but we only found out later he was planning on attending the same university as us. And then he brought Cosette with him. We found the rest when we started our group,” gushed Enjolras, clearly excited to talk about his friends.

 

“Online forum?” repeated Grantaire. “I don’t even want to know.” Enjolras flushed at the implications.

 

“It wasn’t like that. It was just a group of people dedicated to the same stuff as I am.”

 

“Liberty, equality, and fraternity?” teased Grantaire.

 

“Exactly,” Enjolras grinned. There was a minute as they both smiled at each other. Grantaire looked away first, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

 

“Uh, anyway, I’m going to go, uh, check on some things.” He rushed off. He was acting like Merlin when he first started falling in love with Arthur. Wait. What? He was acting like Merlin when he first started falling in love with Arthur. Shit. What the hell was going on here?

 

Setting the wards on automatic, he slipped away from the party and retreated deep into the dungeons to the room where Kilgharrah used to be kept captive years and years ago. Taking a seat on the ledge, he took a deep breath. Gaius had always said Grantaire needed to learn to ground himself better. Well, that’s what he was going to do. he was going to ground himself and shut down whatever pesky feelings he was forming for Enjolras, a mortal human being who would be dead in a few years and couldn’t ever get mixed up in the magic that dictated Grantaire’s life.

 

Above him the party raged and around him time passed. Grantaire stayed down there until he felt every last person leave. Then he rose from his position, dusted off the bits of rock clinging to his trousers, and returned to the Coronation Hall. The place was a mess. Plates and cups and streamers and confetti littered every available surface. Someone had left a note.

Grantaire - we tried to find you to say goodbye but you were nowhere to be found. It’s getting late but we’ll be back tomorrow to help clean up. Don’t clean without us! Thanks for the great part! Love, Les Amis

 

Grantaire grinned at their thoughtfulness then surveyed the mess again. No way was this waiting until tomorrow. With a tired wave of his arms, the trash started moving into bins and table cloths folded themselves. The extra food travelled down to the kitchen and divided itself up into tupperware before sliding into the fridge. Brooms leapt out of the closet and swept the crumbs from the floors, and all but the most essential candles and torches winked out. Grantaire stood in the middle of it all, controlling the objects with his glowing eyes.

 

When the room was clean enough to leave alone for the night, Grantaire went on his nightly rounds to check the security of the castle and see for his own eyes that it was only him. Then he put the place on lock down and returned to his rooms. When he got there, his cell phone contained a single message.

 

Where did you go? I wanted to say good night. Grantaire deleted the message from Enjolras without replying. It was time for bed, and if he took a bottle of whiskey with him, who was to know?

 

\---

 

Ring ring. Ring ring. Grantaire groaned as the doorbell rang incessantly. Rolling over, he glanced at the bedside clock. It was blinking 12:00 o’clock, which meant that it had crapped out once again. This happened at least once a week.

 

Grantaire stumbled out of his warm cocoon of covers, reignited the fire in the hearth with a flick of his hand, and made his way over to his door. At this point, the Amis knew all the back door entrances, including the private one into Grantaire’s apartment. So he wasn’t surprised that one would be ringing the bell only two days after Jehan’s party.

 

“What?” he grumbled, opening the door. Enjolras stood on the stoop, looking as put together as always, except for the wringing on his hands. Grantaire froze.

 

“Can I come in?” he asked. Wordlessly, Grantaire let him inside. While Joly and Bossuet and even Cosette had spent a few nights on his couch, Enjolras had never seen his personal rooms.

 

The rooms were made from the original rock of the castle, although over the years Grantaire had decorated them with woven rugs and posters and things from really every generation. Parts were modernized and parts were the very same they had always been. For instance, Grantaire had never covered up the large scorch mark in the living room across from the hearth, despite the terrible memory it represented.

 

The most contemporary room was the kitchen, although the colors and appliances were very seventies. The newest thing in his apartment was the television, which sat next to a stack of haphazard books and vases from Grantaire’s original life. A half eaten pizza rested by the couch, and a few bottles littered the floor. Required to keep every single room of the castle spotless, he often let his own rooms go a bit.

 

“What’s up, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked as he pushed aside the novel he was reading so there was room on the couch. The student perched carefully on the end.

 

“I did it wrong. I’ve been doing - this wrong. And I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before, and apparently I’m awful at it. Or so Combeferre told me yesterday.”

 

“You’re not making any sense,” said Grantaire slowly. Enjolras nodded, a determined expression on his face.

 

“I know. Okay. You know what you said to me? At Jehan’s party? About how I always ask about the castle and magic and how you know stuff? You were right. I do. And at first it was because I was fascinated by the legends surrounding this area. But now it is because I wanted to talk to you and I don’t know what to say. And you’re so knowledgeable about this stuff so I thought it would be a good place to start a conversation. I wanted you to see that I am interested. In you, that is. But I think my point got lost. Did you have any idea?” Now Grantaire was completely lost.

 

“What? What do you mean interested?” What was Enjolras trying to say? Enjolras shifted slightly on the couch, bringing up clouds of dust. He coughed.

 

“I’m interested in you! Like, like, do-you-want-to-go-out-on-a-date interested in you.” The last part was said in a rush. Grantaire blinked.

 

“What?” Okay he was starting to sound like a parrot now. But no one had ever said something like this to him before. Never, in all his years of life, had anyone claimed to be interested in him. Sure, people wanted to know about magic, dragons, Merlin, the castle, and whether or not he had magic, but this was something new.

 

“You, I’m interested in you and I want to spend more time with you,” said Enjolras, a desperate hope in his eyes. Grantaire knew he should explain that he very much liked Enjolras, but he felt incredibly wrong footed.

 

“But why? I don’t understand.” Enjolras gave a little huff.

 

“Because I like you. You’re funny and smart and interesting and too attached to the bottle but you stand up for what you think and you help others so selflessly like giving Feuilly a job when he needed the money and you’re completely yourself and I’ve never seen someone so unapologetically unhindered by societal expectations and you don’t know what wifi is and who doesn’t know what wifi is and I enjoy talking to you and I want to spend more time with you and maybe hold hands and kiss and stuff if that’s all right. Why are you looking at me like that?” Enjolras blushed red as he spoke. Grantaire tried to collect his words.

 

“No one’s ever said that to me before. I don’t - I don’t know if I understand. And - and I’m older than you. I feel like that should be an issue. Isn’t that an issue?” Grantaire was rambling now. Older than Enjolras? That didn’t even begin to cover it.

 

“You’re what, 25? That’s barely older than me. Besides it doesn’t matter. If - if you don’t like me, I’ll leave you alone but -”

 

“I like you,” Grantaire burst out, a horrified expression on his face even as he said it. “I - I like you.” This time he said it slower, not quite unable to believe that the words were coming from his own lips. This was a terrible idea. A disaster in the making. Grantaire was a cynic for a reason. He had no business encouraging Enjolras like this. And yet. For once, he couldn’t find it within himself to deny the truth. To deny the happiness this may bring him.

 

“You do? Really?” Enjolras brightened up, his whole face glowing with joy. “Will you go on a date with me? Please?” The question caused Grantaire to laugh.

 

“I think we just established that yes, I would go on a date with you,” he grinned. They both grinned at each other and laughed a little. Grantaire felt like there was a balloon of happiness swelling in his chest.

 

“Well, um, that’s all I came here for,” Enjolras said after a bit, still grinning fit to burst. “I guess I should leave you to, uh, whatever you’re doing?”

 

“Or you could stay,” offered Grantaire in a rush. “I was bored anyway.” Actually he had been sleeping, but that was because he was bored and aimless. Enjolras nodded, a soft smiling covering his face.

 

“I would like that.”

  
“Besides, you still have to finish my movie-ducation,” grinned Grantaire. With a laugh, Enjolras flipped on the tv and started one of the many movies on the “Must See” list the Amis had drawn up for Grantaire. Then they curled up on the couch together and watched, with occasional social commentary from Enjolras and remarks of disbelief or historical inaccuracy from Grantaire. And to his surprise, Grantaire had a wonderful time.


	7. Chapter 7

“You’re what?” cried Gwen, clapping her hands together in excitement. “You? Dating someone? What has the world come to? Oh my, I must meet this man!” Grantaire, blushing for all he was worth, tried to sound annoyed.

 

“Well excuse me if some of us didn’t find true love in the first hundred years of their life.” Twice a year Grantaire gathered enough magic on this side and Merlin and Morgana gathered enough magic on their side to hold what twenty first century folk might call a phone call or, as Enjolras had been teaching him, Skype.

 

Using a large, reflective basin of water, Grantaire was able to check in with his bosses, report on this side of things, and hear about the world that he had left. Sometimes, if there was time left at the end of the call, he and Gwen were able to chat and catch up. They were great friends from having grown up together as castle servants.

 

Today was one of those days and after giving the boring reports to Merlin and Arthur, they had left him time to talk with Gwen. He had immediately filled her in on Enjolras, whom he had been officially dating for about two weeks now. It still felt unreal.

 

“I know, I know, I’m incredibly lucky to have both Morgana and Lance. But it’s so good to hear you’re actually interacting with people. And that you’re dating! I worry about you locked up in that big old castle of ours. I think I can worry a little less now.” Gwen looked wonderful. She always did. Both her partners loved showering her with thoughtful gifts, and though she gave many away, she was a far cry from the timid, little serving girl she had once been. Grantaire loved seeing the extreme happiness on his dearest friend. If anyone deserved a lifetime of bliss, it was Gwen.

 

“I’ve told you, you don’t have to worry. I’m fine here. And you can’t tell Morgana, because she’ll tell Arthur and Merlin, and they’ll probably tell me it’s against the rules or something. I want to enjoy this while I can. I’ve never dated before.” Of course Gwen already knew that, but she listened willingly to his insecurities and worries for a bit before leaning forward with an earnest expression.

 

“Listen to me, R. You’re a wonderful person. And it’s about time someone told you. And you deserve happiness. So stop your inner cynic and accept it, okay? Nothing is going to happen. Britain will still stand if Grantaire falls in love with someone who loves him back. So take a chance.” Gwen, as always, knew the perfect thing to say. Grantaire had been wildly freaking out the last few days as things moved smoothly between him and Enjolras, and he had been waiting for it all to fall apart. Maybe he didn’t have to do that.

 

“Okay, okay, fine. You finished?” There was no real bite in Grantaire’s voice, but he had to say something to keep up appearances. Gwen rolled her eyes fondly.

 

“Yes, I suppose I am. Also Morgana keeps knocking at the door so I think our time is up. Good luck with the boy! Keep me posted when you can.”

 

“Bye Gwen.”

 

“Bye!” And then the basin when dark before dissolving back into the plain lakewater it was. Grantaire sat in the silence for a bit, fiercely missing Gwen, before the wards informed him that someone had entered his rooms. Leaving the chamber, he returned to his living room to find Enjolras, a picnic basket, and a frown. Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

 

“What’s up?” he asked. A loud huff issued from the student as he flopped on Grantaire’s couch.

 

“Isn’t there a lake around here? I could’ve sworn there was a lake around here,” Enjolras complained, tugging Grantaire down onto the couch with him and burrowing into the magician. Grantaire allowed the whole thing with a smile, even as he tried not to freak at the mention of a lake.

 

“There’s no lake. Why would you think there’s a lake?”

 

“I camped here a few times with my parents,” murmured Enjolras into Grantaire’s belly. “I thought I discovered a lake once. There’s really no lake?”

 

“Nope,” said Grantaire, tightening his arms around his boyfriend. “No lake. Not right here, at least.”

 

“But I wanted a picnic,” Enjolras pouted. One thing Grantaire had learnt was that Enjolras was very prone to pouting when things didn’t go his way. He really shouldn’t find it as adorable as he did.

 

“You don’t need a lake to have a picnic, you know,” Grantaire said as he stroked Enjolras’ hair and started rebraiding the loose strands.

 

“You do if you want to do it properly. Come on, Grantaire, it’s the rule of picnics. But I’ve looked through every map here and traipsed around half of the wilderness behind the college and nothing. No lake. I really thought there was a lake here. Now I’m confused.”

 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.” And if Grantaire’s voice was more affectionate than strictly necessary, well, no one else was there to witness it. Enjolras rolled over so he could look up at Grantaire from his horizontal position on the couch and Grantaire’s body.

 

“But I had it all planned out! I even got fresh local food because I remembered how much you hate processed food even though it’s more accessible and affordable for most people and means that more people can eat.”

 

“Food should have an expiration date,” Grantaire argued. “Whatever that stuff is that you eat, it’s not real food.”

 

“French fries are delicious. But anyway, I had remembered your weird food preferences and everything and then I couldn’t find a lake! Why are you laughing? You’re supposed to by sympathetic. You’re my boyfriend. That’s your job.” Grantaire poked Enjolras in his sensitive side spot and the student squealed before glaring at Grantaire reproachfully. Grantaire quickly tried to control his smile.

 

“Thank you, Enjolras, for the attempted picnic with food that won’t lessen our life expectancies. You are a good boyfriend.”

 

“The best boyfriend,” grumbled Enjolras. Grantaire nodded, still fighting a smile at the ridiculousness of the person he had decided to love.

 

“That’s right. The Best Boyfriend. Now come on. I’m going to fix this.” Grantaire declared, tugging Enjolras off the couch and scooping up the basket. It was real wicker and everything. Like all that Enjolras did, he had gone all out. Then Grantaire led the still pouting Best Boyfriend by the hand to his car. Grantaire’s car was not as old as most things he owned, but it was certainly no spring chicken.

 

It took a few kicks and bangs to get started. But once it was rolling, Grantaire drove out of the castle onto the main roads. Now he had learnt to drive back with some of the first cars, and sometimes he forgot they could move faster than twenty miles an hour. But with some shouting from Enjolras and some honking from the line of cars behind him, he got the hang of it, and was soon zooming down the country roads.

 

“Where did you learn to drive?” laughed Enjolras as the last angry driver passed them while swearing loudly.

 

“I taught myself,” Grantaire declared proudly. “I bought a car and taught myself to drive.”

 

“That’s so illegal. Do you even have a license?”

 

“No. But we won’t be stopped.” Grantaire had enchanted the car so police wouldn’t notice it. This vehicle’s registration wasn’t even active any more, and Grantaire hadn’t put gas in the thing for at least ten years. Not that he would tell Enjolras that.

 

“Where are we going?” Enjolras asked after they had been driving for an hour. Grantaire just grinned as he pulled onto a side road.

 

“You wanted a lake. We’re getting you a lake,” he answered. In that moment they entered a small clearing with a lake so picturesque it could be from a travel magazine.

 

“Oh wow,” breathed Enjolras, taking in the glittering water and thick grassy carpet. Grantaire tried not to feel smug, but it was hard when Enjolras practically leapt out of the car in delight. They set up the picnic companionably, laying out a blanket and eating the food that Enjolras had packed. For once in his life, Grantaire didn’t spend the whole outing wishing he were back at home in his castle. Although he was still mentally there, at some level, he didn’t feel consumed by the urge to be back.

 

“This is really nice,” Grantaire said after some time. “Maybe you do deserve the title of Best Boyfriend.” Enjolras blushed happily.

 

“No, I think I have to give it up to the boyfriend who found me a lake. He’s actually the best.”

 

“And which boyfriend is this? Should I be jealous?” teased Grantaire.

 

“Probably. I have yet to meet someone better.” Grantaire rolled around the blanket dramatically.

 

“Why do you say such nice things?” he cried, feeling much younger than his many decades. Enjolras merely grinned wolfishly and leaned over to kiss him. Grantaire flopped like a fish. He couldn't’ handle all this happiness. It was too much. But he remembered Gwen’s advice from earlier, so he pulled Enjolras down for another kiss. He was going to enjoy this.

 

It was late when they piled back into the car and returned to the castle. Grantaire felt completely at ease, and for once decided not to question it or predict something bad. He was going to enjoy this.

 

When they got back, Enjolras worked on some homework while Grantaire polished some silver dishware he normally kept on display and yelled the television. There was a history special on dragons, and Grantaire liked to watch such shows for the inaccuracies.

 

“You should teach a class on this stuff,” Enjolras remarked as Grantaire made yet another disparaging comment.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You know so much,” Enjolras shrugged, “and so many people come here for a degree in this sort of history and English. You should teach a class through the college.”

 

“I already do tours and school events. I think that’s more than enough interaction with the common folk, don’t you?” Enjolras made a face at the term ‘common folk’ but plowed on.

 

‘Why not share your knowledge though? It’s so much more than most people’s. I just don’t understand why you would want to keep that to yourself.” Enjolras had the damned earnest expression on that Grantaire really had no defense against. But there was a good reason he kept to himself.

 

“Remember how I told you way back that there’s the official tour and the family tour? And that some of the stuff we show the public isn’t exact? Like the real Round Table room versus the one on tour. There’s a reason for that. And that’s just innocent tours. Imagine if I did a real class? It would be just like that, except worse. There’s no point in sharing my knowledge if I have to give a revised version of it.” Enjolras watched him closely, but Grantaire was too agitated to care.

 

“Do you do that with us?”

 

“Of course! There’s a lot of sensitive information here. This - this job that I have - it isn’t just cleaning and maintaining the physical preservation of the castle. It’s so much more. I protect this place. I am the protector. And if anyone fucks with that, then I’m the one who fixes the problem. Got it?”

 

“You let me in,” Enjolras said slowly, his eyes still fixated on Grantaire, who was pacing around the room at this point.

 

“I trust you. Which is a big thing, don’t think otherwise. And you’re still a long way of knowing all this castle’s secrets. After all, I don’t think we’ve spent any time in Kilhaggarah’s lair,” Grantaire said the last part sarcastically.

 

“So no class then.”

 

“No! It would be a disaster.” Suddenly drained of energy, Grantaire sat back down where Enjolras waited. Their two hands entwined almost automatically. “I only wish it were a simple as sharing what I know. But it’s not. This caretaking job that I have must always come first.”

 

“Even over family?” Enjolras hummed. Grantaire tried not to laugh bitterly.

 

“I have no family left.” There was a pause as Enjolras’ grip on Grantaire’s hand tightened.

 

“You have me.” At long last, Grantaire smiled.

 

“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little messy

Things were good. Things were amazingly good. Grantaire couldn’t remember being happier. Dating Enjolras felt incredibly natural, and it was a miracle to have friends again. Even the castle felt lighter. The most amazing thing was that Grantaire no longer dreaded the long expanse of days. In fact, he looked forward to them. While most of their time was spent the castle, it was beautiful.

 

Grantaire kept waiting for the other foot to drop but it never did. And over time, Grantaire started to relax. Months passed. The only negative was the constant guilt Grantaire felt for keeping his magic and immortality a secret. But these days Enjolras was much too busy to talk about magic and legends. There were dates and riots and meetings and movie nights to plan. Grantaire happily participated in almost all of them, although he always had a sarcastic comment at the ready for any of the activism events.

 

It was the first day of spring break, and the castle felt large and empty. Everyone had gone home for break, however reluctantly. Grantaire had a solid week of nothing planned. He was unused to the quiet now, and already bored. In an attempt to feel productive, he decided to clean the Round Table room. His friends were quite the slobs when they wanted to be.

 

As Grantaire picked up scraps of paper and emptied the ever full trash can, he noticed a binder in the corner. Recognizing it as Enjolras’ by both the obnoxious signature red and the curly handwriting, he grabbed it. He would just leave it in his room so Enjolras could get it over break. Knowing his boyfriend’s studying habits, Grantaire thought it might do Enjolras good to be away from some of his work for once.

 

When the room was clean, Grantaire grabbed the binder and, whistling, headed back to his rooms. As he walked, he tried to consider how he might surprise the Amis upon their return. Maybe he could redecorate the room. Or find a few of the priceless books that hadn’t seen the light of day in a century. So completely distracted by these thoughts he was that when he reached the stairs, he ended up tumbling all the way down them. He saved both his ass and his pride by casting a cushioning spell, but the binder had fallen out of his hands.

 

As Grantaire knelt to pick it up and close it, he spotted his name in Enjolras’ handwriting. Then the word “magic.” Then “Merlin.” With trembling fingers, Grantaire opened the binder all the way and started reading.

 

The binder was a treasure trove of information. It was filled with notes and information on him, on his castle, on the legends, and on magic in general. There were theories about where magic had gone, how to get it back, and how to use it. Every version of the Arthurian legends filled the pages, including a few Grantaire had written himself. And on the section focusing on Grantaire, well, it had recorded every little thing he had ever said about the castle, his own history, and magic and Enjolras’ own thoughts on what was the truth.

 

Grantaire was shaking. He was shaking and he felt positively ill. Actually - Grantaire leaned over and vomited the contents of his stomach. And then again. And then he slid, still shivering uncontrollably with bits of sick stuck in his hair, to the floor. Slowly he pulled his hands together, attempting to regain control of his body. He had to get under control. He had to regain control. The castle had to come first.

 

Unable to stop the violent shaking, he stuttered the necessary words to ignite the lock down procedures. He could feel the magic slamming into place around him. Throughout the castle every door was closed and locked. Magical barriers were in place over every entrance, from the largest door to the smallest window. It would take an army of skilled magicians to break into here. And such an army no longer existed.

 

A small whimper escaped Grantaire’s lips. Shocked at the sound he had issued, he crammed his fist over his mouth. Curling up into a ball, he let go of the tight control of his magic. This was stupid. He was stupid. How could he - how could be so foolish? How could he be so blind? He pressed tighter into the corner, roughly hewn stones digging into his back, smothering the sobs tearing from his throat. What was he going to do?

 

He needed to get drunk, Grantaire decided suddenly. He needed to get really, properly drunk. With the castle on lockdown and the Amis out for the week, he had time to figure out how to handle this. But for now? Well, Grantaire just wanted to drink until he couldn’t see straight, never mind think.

 

Stumbling upright, he banished the vomit splashing the stone and headed toward the wine cellar. Grantaire pulled out several choice bottles, uncorked them, and started drinking. And he kept drinking, wine spilling on his shirt and running out of his mouth in rivlets. He drank like a man dying of thirst.

 

At some point he faded blissfully into oblivion, passed out around a pile of bottles. The next morning came with a pounding headache, the taste of death in Grantaire’s mouth, and the tight feeling of swollen eyes. For a minute he couldn’t understand why he was surrounded by empty wine bottles. Then he remembered. His loneliness and boredom had compromised the entire security of the castle and his friends. His real friends. The ones he spent his life protecting. Not the ones who only pretended to like him in order to wrest information from his clutches.

 

Oh god. He really was worthless, wasn’t he? He couldn’t even protect a castle in a magicless world with all the power of Avalon at his back. What his parents had always told him was true. He was worthless. Had he really been so desperate to believe people could be interested in him? Who in their right mind would be interested in him? History had taught him time and time again that people only wanted what they could take from him, and - and Enjolras had wanted it so bad he had pretended to have feelings for him. How awful was that?

 

Grantaire belatedly realized he was crying again, and he swiped angrily at his cheeks. No, he couldn’t have the luxury of feeling personal betrayal and pain. He had other priorities.

 

“Pull yourself together, R,” he said through gritted teeth. His head pounded with the hangover. Although his whole body ached from sleeping on the stone, Grantaire forced himself to rise and clean up the proof of his drinking binge. He made sure he did it manually, with no magic involved, as punishment for such an expression of self indulgence. When he arrived upstairs, Grantaire saw more evidence of his reaction from yesterday. The hallway was practically destroyed. Tapestries littered the floor and several priceless paintings were shredded. The statues or vases decorating the hallway lay in shatters. He would need the aid of magic to repair most of this.

 

Woodenly he got to work. In a few hours, the place was spotless. You couldn’t even tell Grantaire had been there. Then he moved on autopilot to the computer and canceled all tours for the foreseeable future. No one was getting in until he truly understood the gravity of his mistake.

 

Grantaire spent the week like that, not eating, not sleeping, and ignoring all calls on his phone in favor of double and triple checking his security as well as drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Enjolras tried calling more than ten times. Eventually Grantaire just turned off his phone.

 

By Sunday he felt more settled. There was a hollow pit in his chest where his heart had once been, sure, but he was back in action. All he had to do now was wait for the Amis to come to the castle as they surely would. In preparation, he went down to the Round Table and slowly wallpapered the stone walls with papers from the binder. Then he pulled out a chair and took a seat.

 

They started filing in around eight like clockwork. Each member came in loud and excited and curious about Grantaire’s week-long absence, but silence fell quickly as the new decorations were observed. Enjolras came in last, his worried expression transforming into a horrified one in nearly two seconds.

 

“Grantaire,” he breathed, the first to speak. “God, Grantaire, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how, and -” He reached out to Grantaire, and the magician flinched away, his face stone cold and emotionless. He smiled, a horribly mockery of the joyful grins Enjolras used to bring to his face.

 

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. I’m not angry. I understand. Business is business, right?” Grantaire almost didn’t recognize his voice. The awful smile lingered. “You came here with a mission. Find the door that leads to all the magic and grab it. I’m not sure what you expected to do with such a legendary power, if indeed it existed and you found it, but that was your mission. And in the time that I’ve known you lot, it’s been obviously apparent that you’ll go through any length to achieve your goal. Including, I suppose, befriending me. And that’s fine. I applaud you on your dedication. And it was an interesting route to take. Certainly the first time anyone’s come at it from this angle, which is probably why I didn’t immediately catch you.”

 

“Grantaire,” started Enjolras again, his voice breaking on Grantaire’s name. “Grantaire, please.” He wanted to stop. He desperately wanted to stop and apologize and make up for the harsh words he was saying. Because he loved Enjolras. But Enjolras didn’t love him. And he had to remember that.

 

“So I wanted to invite you into my castle one last time. To congratulate you on your excellent work. Unfortunately you ultimately failed. There’s no door. There’s no secret store of magic. You did all of this for nothing. There is no more magic.” Grantaire finished and stared at them all, making sure to make eye contact with every Ami, from Jehan to Bahorel to Joly. They needed to believe there was nothing here for them. Nothing to find.

 

“But that’s a lie,” Enjolras cried, rising from his seat. “I’ve seen magic. I know it’s real. And I know you can cast it, because I’ve seen you!” Grantaire felt cold. That couldn’t be true, could it?

 

“If you’re talking about the tricks I do on tours, that’s not real magic. I hope you’re not so easily deceived,” he snapped. The student shook his head frantically.

 

“No, that’s not it. I met you when I was a child. I camped here with my parents and we argued and I ran away. And I found this lake and I was crying and you showed up! And you looked exactly like you do now. I don’t understand it, but it’s the truth. And you did magic and cheered me up and promised that it was real. You levitated me, for Christ’s sake. How can you deny it?” Enjolras’ impassioned speech hit Grantaire like a wave of cold water.

 

He remembered that boy. The little blond boy who was so distraught and unbelieving and young. Grantaire’s heart had nearly broken at the sight, and he had done all he could to cheer him up. Including some ill-advised magic tricks. But the boy wasn’t supposed to remember! He was supposed to reason it away with logic and silly adult beliefs. Grown ups didn’t believe in magic.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” lied Grantaire coldly. “Seeing as I’m only three or four years older than you, it would be quite impossible for me to be the person you think you met. Besides, there is no magic. What don’t you understand about that?” Enjolras slammed his hands down on the table.

 

“I know I met you! Why won’t you just admit it?”

 

“Why did you lie to me?” Grantaire shouted back. “At least when the other magic hunters come here they’re honest about it. Why did you lie?” If he learnt only one thing tonight, he had to know the answer. Enjolras backed up a step. Bossuet opened his mouth and then shut it. Cosette appeared to be on the verge of tears. There was utter silence.

 

“We weren’t sure if we could trust you,” Combeferre confessed in a very small voice. Grantaire rocked back on his heels, letting his eyes flutter shut for just a second.

 

“I see. Could it also be that you knew what you were doing is wrong?”

 

“What you’re doing is wrong!” shouted Enjolras. “Every single authority on the subject of magic points to this castle as the last holding place for it. I know you know where the door is. And you’re hiding it. That’s wrong and-and selfish. Think of all the good you could do with the power entrusted to you! Half of our projects could be completed right now! And yet here you are, just sitting on it.” Grantaire sneered. It was the only option he had if he didn’t want to cry or shout or, god forbid, cast magic.

 

“Oh tell us how you really feel, Enjolras. Did it ever occur to you that this rumored magic you’re searching so desperately for might not be inherently good? Like all power, it has equal potential for good and bad.”

 

“But we would use it for good!” retorted Enjolras. Courfeyrac nodded behind him. “We want to make the world better, and magic is a tool. Why can’t you see that? Why won’t you admit you’re the person I met as a child? Don’t yell at us for lies when you’re lying through your teeth.” Grantaire’s eyes flashed gold as he clamped down on the urge to blow something up with magic.

 

“I want you out. I want all of you out of my castle. And don’t come back. If you try to get in again, I will kill you.” This wasn’t an idle threat. Grantaire had killed plenty of people who had tried to steal magic and artifacts from him. There was iron in his eyes as he stared down the Amis. Joly swallowed nervously, but Enjolras didn’t back down.

 

“I’m not leaving without answers!” Grantaire had a choice at this point. It was clear that this group was going to believe in the existance of magic no matter how convincing his denials were. He could either continue lying about magic, which would just add fuel to a fire, or he could give them a display of his power, and scare them into leaving. Neither looked good at this point, but only one would keep them away.

 

“You want answers?” Grantaire spat. “Fine.” Shutting his eyes, Grantaire took a deep breath and concentrated. Slowly all the papers he had pulled out of Enjolras’ binder tore off the walls and started gathering into tornado around him. They spun faster and faster, whipping around the room in a storm of paper and tape and fury. Feuilly completely freaked out and jumped up, although the frantic winds and swirling papers never harmed a single person. When Grantaire thought the point had been made, he banished them with a single puff of purple fire and smoke. It was flashy, yes, but people typically expected magic to by flashy, and who was he to deny them?

 

“Now leave.” There was a scramble as Bossuet, Marius, and Courfeyrac all ran for the door, the others not far behind. Enjolras hesitated for a split second at the door, catching Grantaire’s eye, but Grantaire kept his face emotionless and, with a sad twist of his lips, Enjolras left too.

 

With the room empty, Grantaire reinstated lockdown. He was alone. He was absolutely alone. Grantaire crumbled to the floor. Oh god, how was he going to get over Enjolras and the only happiness he had felt in years?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave comments or kudos so I know what you thought. Love you all.


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